


silence in my blood

by mywordsflyup



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bad Flirting, F/F, Pre-Relationship, also dirty berlin warehouse clubs, questionable work ethic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 18:58:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9338594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywordsflyup/pseuds/mywordsflyup
Summary: “Morbid.”“I knew you’d like it.”





	

“Didn’t you hear? They say dancing in Berlin means dancing on graves.” Sombra leans forward, her hair falling into her face. In this light, it’s easy to miss the purple in it but Widowmaker knows it’s there. 

 

“Is that so?” She picks ups her bottle of water and takes a sip. She doesn’t miss the way Sombra’s eyes flick to her mouth and back. But then again, there are few things she ever misses.

 

Like the sheen of sweat on her brow and neck. Or the slight uptick of the corner of her mouth as she watches her. 

 

“Oh yeah,” she says. “I got it from a very credible source.” 

 

“Morbid.” 

 

“I knew you’d like it.” 

 

Somewhere down below in the club, one song seamlessly transitions into the next, the beat picking up without a hitch. They all sound the same to Widowmaker but the crowd seems to like it well enough. The floor is packed, an ocean of bodies moving to the music. 

 

The building used to be a warehouse before the rich and morally questionable put in lights and a dance floor and a bar stocked with exorbitantly expensive liquor. A lot has changed but the windows and steel beams high up above crowd remain the same. 

 

Terrible security. It’s almost like they want an assassin to set up shop in the rafters. 

 

Widowmaker turns her head and takes a look through the scope of her rifle. It’s still trained on the little plateau in the back of the club. Dark leather seats and girls in short skirts and giant bottles of vodka. And their target nowhere in sight. 

 

“He’ll be here,” Sombra says as if she’s read her thoughts. Or perhaps just the annoyed click of her tongue. 

 

“So you say.” 

 

Sombra shifts a little next to her, gets into a more comfortable position. She’s not as used to sitting motionless in wait for hours as Widowmaker is. She’s probably not used to sitting still for any extended period of time. 

 

“My intel’s good,” Sombra says and there’s a hint of something in here voice that Widowmaker can’t quite make out. Annoyance, perhaps. Offense. 

 

“Another reliable source?” She shouldn’t egg her on. She should know better than that. 

 

“I’d hope so.” Sombra peeks over the edge of the ledge they’re sitting on down into the crowd. “Although not half as cute as the girl who told me the Berlin thing.” 

 

Widowmaker scoffs and knows it’s a mistake as soon as she sees Sombra’s raised eyebrow. 

 

“Jealous?” There’s a smirk that comes with the question, and somehow that makes it all the more irritating. 

 

“Hardly.” Widowmaker takes another look through the scope. Even over the music, she can hear Sombra make a sound that sounds suspiciously close to laughter. 

 

There’s a reason she prefers to work alone.

 

There’s no change in the VIP section, so she lets her gaze wander through the club, looking for any kind of suspicious movement. 

 

“We should dance,” Sombra says suddenly, unfolding her legs and stretching them as much as she can in what little space they have. 

 

Widowmaker watches her from the corner of her eye. “You already did.”

 

“Not me.  _ We _ . As in you and I.” Sombra grins. “All this sitting around can’t be healthy.”

 

Another scoff. “I am working. But go on. Dance on graves if you must.” 

 

Sombra’s laugh is loud enough that Widowmaker would have worried if it wasn’t for the booming music from below. “I was thinking more along the lines of that dance floor. But if that’s what you’re into, I won’t judge.” 

 

Irritation flares up somewhere deep in her chest. “I do not care what you call it. Go back down there. At least you will not distract me there.” 

 

There’s a glint in Sombra’s eyes, which in Widowmaker’s experience never bodes well. “I thought I’d be less distracting up here. But maybe you just prefer to watch me dance.” She leans in a little closer, just enough for Widowmaker to catch the scent of sweat and booze and sandalwood. “No shame in that.” 

 

Widowmaker narrows her eyes. “I was not -”

 

“The thing about that visor of yours…” Sombra taps a finger against her own temple and smiles. “Still very easy to hack.” 

 

The words on her tongue melt away like snowflakes and for a moment, all she can do is stare at Sombra. “You did not.” 

 

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. I wouldn’t mess with it. I just took a little peek to…” Her words trail off and she turns her head towards the crowd down below. “Ah, chingá!”

 

Widowmaker follows her gaze. She doesn’t her scope or her visor to see what Sombra has spotted. It’s difficult not to draw attention when you’re an omnic entering a club with a whole posse and several bodyguards. 

 

“He’s not going to the VIP area,” Sombra says.

 

“I can see that.” Widowmaker sits up and begins readjusting her rifle. Down below, the crowd parts for a moment before swallowing up the newcomers, despite the bodyguards. She curses under her breath, keeping an eye out for the telltale gleam of metal. 

 

“Can you still take the shot?” 

 

“Perhaps if you could manage to be quiet for just one… Ah. There.” 

 

It’s hardly the most difficult shot she’s ever taken. Even with hundreds of people around and the head of her target disappearing in the crowd again and again.    
  


They don’t call her the best for nothing. 

 

She pulls the trigger and sees the omnic stumble. For a split-second, she thinks he’ll go down. That whatever Sombra did to this tracking device won’t work after all. But nothing happens. The omnic keeps moving towards the bar in the back of club, surrounded by his bodyguards and none the wiser that his fate has just been sealed. 

 

Widowmaker puts her rifle up. “Did it work?” 

 

Sombra tuts at her. “Of course.” She’s already pulled up a holo screen, scrolling through lines of code, a small frown of concentration on her face. “Easy.” 

 

“Do you think you can be overconfident while we get out of here?” Widowmaker is already disassembling her rifle, every move as familiar as tying her shoes. 

 

It earns her a little eye roll. And then a little smile. 

 

Which probably shouldn’t feel as satisfying as it does. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from "Berlin" by RY X. 
> 
> About fic requests inquire [here.](http://damnable-rogue.tumblr.com/ask)  
> You can also find me on Tumblr, if you want: [damnable-rogue](http://damnable-rogue.tumblr.com/)  
> 


End file.
